Black and grey fine line script tattoo reading psalm 46:5 across the inner wrist and lower forearm, cut off at the right edge of the frame.

Psalm 46:5 script on a wrist

Fine line · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey photograph of a wrist and lower forearm with a thin, cursive script tattoo reading psalm 46:5, the final numerals partly cropped by the frame. The linework is fine and even, with soft grey shading in the letter edges. The plain light background and monochrome tone keep the focus on the lettering.

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Dear Ruth,

Keep reading

The water came up over the platform at Hallam Cross at a quarter past four, which is the hour the milk train used to be late for. I have kept the signal box lamp lit since then because nobody has told me to stop. The telegraph has gone quiet except for Mr Pell's clicking from Wharfedale, asking after the bridge.

The bridge is still standing. I went down with the lantern to look, and the stonework had a grey tide line higher than my head. The old men at the Crown say the river has never been so proud. Still, the brickwork holds. Mother always said the Lord keeps a town the way you keep a kettle warm, by being there in the morning. I thought she was talking nonsense when she said it. I am less sure now.

Yesterday a woman came to the booking hatch with a child wrapped in a grey blanket and a ticket for Leeds that had been valid since March. I gave her a seat by the stove and told her the line would be open by first light. She looked at me as if I had promised her the sun. I suppose I had, a little. Early, she said, and I said yes, early.

Come home when the roads reopen, and bring the good thermos. I will be at the lever, watching the black over the embankment go to pale. It is the hour Mother had stitched on the sampler above the stove, the one she made us read aloud before we were allowed our porridge. The rails will be dry enough to stand on by the time you reach me.

Your loving brother, Tom

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